


Ice in the Veins

by asongstress1422



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bellamy is hurt, Canon Universe, F/M, Octavia is angry, clarke is scared
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-11-10
Packaged: 2018-08-27 10:45:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8398564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asongstress1422/pseuds/asongstress1422
Summary: Bellamy is dying and Clarke can not allow herself to care if she is to save him.





	1. Detachment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first multiple chapter fic that I'm posting. I will most likely be posting part two tomorrow.

Clarke worked quickly, forceps and needle moving in tandem trying to fix what was broken. There was so much blood. It dyed her hands and coated her shirt. Too much blood.

“We need to put more pressure on these wounds,” she snarled as she tied off one line of sutures only to thread the needle and move on to another area.

Three pairs of hands jumped to her aid, wadding cloth and pressing it hard against the gushing wounds.

“There’s not enough room,” she hissed when she messed up her rhythm twice by knocking her elbow on someone’s arm. “Harper, go for the one on his leg. Miller, that one there on his side. I know the angle is awkward but I need you to put as much weight on it as you can.” She ordered as she kept sewing. “Monty, I need more seaweed paste and all of the coagulant you’ve been working on our stores can make.” She nodded to the two guards standing panicked in the background, “help him.”

“Clarke, what about cauterizing them?” Harper said softly.

She shook her head at the girl's suggesting, using the movement to shoulder sweat out of her eyes. “It could send him into shock. Or seal bacteria in. It could also damage muscle limiting his range of motion and that would be a death sentence for him later on.”

“He’s dying now,” she sobbed.

“Don’t you think I know that?” Clarke snapped somehow making her needle fly faster. “I’m doing everything in my power to make sure that doesn’t happen but that includes making sure he can live from it afterwards. Monty! How are those pastes coming?”

“I’m trying--”

“Clarke?”

What felt like moving underwater, Clarke turned to see Octavia standing in the dropship doorway. “Shit.”

“What--” the dark haired girl frowned, face growing pale as she looked at the table that they were mostly blocking from view. “Is that Bellamy?” She sounded like a lost child.

“Get her out of here!” Clarke ordered and the two with Monty broke off to intercept her. Feeling Octavia's pain spiked her own panic when what the pacient needed most was her detachment and skill. None of them could afford for her to crumble right now.

“No! I won’t leave him,” Octavia fought, trying to get to her brother. “Bellamy! Bellamy, wake up. Can you hear me? Bellamy!”

“Get her to Lincoln!” she shouted, shooting Monty a look. He nodded grabbing a small packet and following after the struggling group. He returned not a minute later minus the packet and set immediately back to work.

It took another hour for her to finished sewing the pacient back together. The coagulant worked, keeping the blood for the most part on the inside where it belonged while she fixed internal wounds and sewed the torn skin. She lost count of how many stitches she set. When she went to put down her tools it took her hands a moment to unclench and let them drop.

All that was left now was the waiting game. The ‘would he,won't he’ that could last from an hour to a few days; until he opened his eyes or his heart stopped beating.

After the coagulant started working and the blood slowed to a more manageable level she had pushed her impromptu assistance out of the way. Miller stood leaning against the metal wall, shoulders drooping but gun still strapped across his back. Harper had found an empty crate and was sitting on it, arms braced on thighs and chin braced on folded hands. Both of them were staring at the cot, as if by will alone they could force him to be okay.

She couldn’t do that. She couldn’t stand there and watch the slow, irregular rise and fall of his chest, counting each breath, hoping that the next one wouldn’t be his last. She’d lose it and he wasn’t out of the woods yet. So instead she left the vigil to them and set about meticulously cleaning all of her tools and the operating area.

An hour past. Two. Three. Then another. When there was no change she sent Monty to talk to them.

“They need their sleep,” she said softly cleaning a storage jar and placing it down to dry before picking up the next one

“So do you.”

She shook her head refusing to look at him. “Harper has morning patrol and Miller needs to take point until-- for now. If they begin to make a scene, remind them of that.”

“Clarke-”

“Monty.” There was quiet warning in her tone but she never looked up from the task. Pick up jar. Dunk it in hot, soapy water. Scrub clean with rag. Rinse in second tub. Set aside. Repeat.

Jar…

He sighed and went to talk with their co-leader’s captains. They refused to go.

Dunk…

They argued, quietly, ss if they might disturb the patient's sleep rather than wake him from unconsciousness born of blood loss.

Scrub…

Monty’s voice was soothing. She knew he was explaining things; how there was nothing more they could do here, how they needed them to keep things going, needed to keep the others calm as things settled.

Rinse…

Monty reminded her so much of the quite nature of Jackson. She remembered how very good the young man was at calming patients and family members. She wandered if the assistant doctor, along with her mother, was dead or dying like Bellamy was.

The jar she was handling broke. She looked down to see her hand fisted around glass shards. Puzzled she opened it and watched as blood welled up around the piece and dripped into the bucket of rinse water. It was contaminated now. She couldn’t use it anymore. Slowly she tipped the broken pieces into the water, watching them splash and disappear.

“Clarke?”

“Did they leave?” She watched as more blood followed the path of the glass. Drip, drip, drip.

“Yeah,” Monty slowly took her hand and brought it towards himself. “With promises that I would tell them if anything changes.”

“Good," she nodded as he dipped her hand back in the water and flushed out the lacerations. “Check in on Octavia and Lincoln then you get some sleep, too.”

“Clarke,” he faded off as if he didn't know how to continue the thought.

“It’s just some broken glass, Monty. I’ve survived worse.”

They were both quiet as he bandaged her hand then left to do as she asked. And nothing was said when he returned shortly after. Quietly he stood by her as they inventoried their medicines and made lists on what would need to be gathered. An hour later he slipped into one of the extra cots and fell asleep.

Once there was not another single thing she could think of that needed tending with medical she moved on to organising what they had picked up in their bunker runs. Blankets she shook out, checked for damages then either refolded or set aside to be repurposed. Same with clothes, though these she also organised in size. Weapons were gathered ands set together against the back wall; they would need to be checked for functionality. Food, mostly jarred, was set aside to be disposed of. Canning might have been the preferred method of food storage but it didn’t last a hundred years. The random extras she tried her best to sort into what material it was made of to be distributed as they found uses for them.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are great, be them critique or complement.


	2. Wake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are two definitions to 'wake'.  
> Hope is such a hard thing to have broken.

She didn’t remember falling asleep, there was just a jump in time. One second she was staring at this small ceramic child in a red dress, a doll, and the next was blinking as sunlight filtered through the drop ship door. She sat up. Her body ached and her hand throbbed in time with her heart. She made a fist, felt the heat and painful pulse in it; infected. Probably from digging in all that hundred year old dust. The beginnings of a headache pressed at her temples and her eyes felt tired and scratchy.

She didn’t allow herself even a breath to wallow in emotion; she simply got up. Knowing that she didn’t want is what pushed her to check on the patient.

He was still breathing.

Her hand trembled slightly as she checked his heart rate. “Elevated,” she spoke quietly to herself, slipping into her training. “Still cool to the touch. Pale.” She moved the blanket covering him aside, peeling off bandages to check wounds. “Bruising. Sutures look good. No sign of infection yet.”

Monty appeared at her elbow with a bowl of warm water and a cloth. “I got this,” he spoke in the quiet of the room. She nodded and moved aside.

The rest of the day kept her busy. The normal bumps and bruises and rolled ankles had people stopping by. A lot of them just came by to check on the patient.

Octavia flew in like a lightning storm, menace and anger crackling around her, shortly after Clarke had woken up. Murder sparked in her eyes as she glared at Clarke, the blond met them. Anger and vengeance was something she could handle from his sister.

The dark haired girl made a step toward her, confrontation brewing in every line of her body, but Lincoln stepped in behind her bumping her off stride with a hand on her hip. She looked up angered at having been broken from the hunt, eyes locked on her lover. He shook his head slowly as they spoke mind to mind. With gentle hands he guided her away from Clarke to her brother. She glared over her shoulder before settling down next to the cot. She remained there most of the day.

The next day followed a similar pattern. Clarke would do anything to keep her hands busy and her mind silent; healing, cleaning, organizing. She would check on the patient once in the morning then force herself to stay away. It was much easier because Octavia stood guard.

As the day before, as night fell, Lincoln would bundle his mate out. She would protest, venom flying, but he would steadily press his advance, corralling her, until they left the drop ship.

Monty would check him once more then turn in. Clarke would continue fiddling until she found herself waking up.

That third morning, with the help of Harper who was off the patrol roster for the day, Octavia and Lincoln gave her brother a full sponge bath. They even washed his hair. Head over the edge of the cot, neck carefully cradled in Lincoln and Harper’s hands as Octavia poured water over the mop of curls until they ran clean of blood and dirt.

Seeing him like that, so helpless that his sister had to wash his hair, had her for the first time in days fleeing the drop ship. She moved at a calm pace to the gate. Quick frantic movement would draw attention and enough eyes were on her right now. No need to incite panic when one leader was out and the other was a few beat away from having a melt down.

Miller saw her coming and stepped into her path.

“Clarke? What’s wrong?” His voice was the quiet, tight calm he projected when things were about to go down. She was pretty sure that was something he had learned from his mentor, though his could soothe a child in the middle of a battle. Miller’s sent a drip of dread to her stomach.

“I’m going to the river to get more red seaweed.”

“But Monty just got some yesterday…” he drifted off at the look on her face. “I’ll send someone with you.”

“No.”

“Clarke, now is not the time--”

“I said no, Miller.” She locked eyes with him. It was selfish of her but she needed to have ten minutes alone. Somewhere quiet so she could let the darkness that had been hovering from the first second she had seen who it was that they were dragging back into camp.

He looked away first.

“Take this.” He unslung his own gun from around his shoulders and held it out to her, his eyes serious. “Thirty minutes. If you’re not back I’m sending people after you. Bellamy would kill me if anything happens to you.”

_Oh god, Bellamy--_

She grabbed the gun from his hands marching past him, fitting the strap across her chest as she went. ‘Just wait until you’re out of camp,’ rolled through her head like a mantra. Her eyes prickled and her throat convulsively swallowed.

Halfway to the river she veered right, off the trail and into the woods. A hundred yards in and her feet just stopped, planted in a pile of leaves and decaying forest matter. She stood there and let the last seventy-two hours of neglected emotion pour over her.

The heartbroken look on Miller’s face when he and Harper brought Bellamy in, hanging limp between them. The stalled heartbeat when she knew for certain that he was already dead. The pounding fear when she found out he wasn’t. And the blood, dear god, all that blood. She couldn’t get it to stop. Plug one hole only to find two more.

Her legs lost their strength and she crouched, folding in on herself as she remembered. By all rights he should be dead. There was no way with their limited medicine and basic equipment that he should still be alive.

Pain ripped her as she let the second truth roll over her; if he didn’t wake up soon they would lose him. They just weren’t able to spoon enough nutrients down his throat. He was losing weight and, already depleted from blood loss, they didn’t have the supplies to sustain him if he didn’t begin being responsive.

Her mind screamed and wailed, more furious than any storm, as her body tore itself apart; yet on the outside she sat frozen, too far gone to even cry.

A noise, a slight rustling of leaves just different enough from the sound of the wind, had her shutting down the emotions, burying them away somewhere. Not as deep as before but enough to bring her back to what she needed to be. She spun on her knees bringing the gun up.

Octavia.

Clarke lowered the barrel and they stood there staring at eachother for a long moment.

“Why hasn’t Bellamy woken up?” The scared little girl that she had glimpsed days ago was gone. Now what stood in her place was a woman, a warrior looking for something to fight. Clarke was sorry she could offer no enemies.

“I don’t know.”

Clarke watched her as she chose the next question with care, testing to see if she really wanted to know the answer. But this was Octavia, she didn’t shy away from things she didn’t want to know, she met them head on and tried to cut them down to size. “How long?” _How long until I become just like the rest of you, familyless_.

“Three days.” Her mind had calculated the number without her knowing it, so when it spat out the answer it came as a shock. She knew it wasn’t rational but she felt her heart shatter. Three days and they would lose him.

“What are you good for if you can’t fix him.” The words were cold, meant to cut and they did. Octavia turned and walked away.

What was she good for if she let their heart die? The hundred would not survive without his strength, she knew that. Knew that she wasn’t strong enough to hold them together by herself. She was supposed to be their healer, yet everything she had done had not worked!

Clarke got up slowly holding her side where a particularly nasty wound had almost sliced Bellamy right through. Her left leg felt numb and it took a minute for it to bear her weight. She felt cold all over.

Back at camp she began noticing the signs of restlessness. Work was getting done, but not a it’s usual pace. More hands stood idle, the ones that worked kept eyes moving, unease in every line of there bodies. Some of the shadier delinquents seemed to congregate round themselves, splitting up into power factions.

Her time was up. She needed a plan. Something to set into motion that if -- she had to stop thinking like that -- _when_ Bellamy did die she could keep the group for killing each other trying to gain power.

His rule they never questioned after those first few days. Her’s they would. She didn’t have the strength to back up her claim and the others knew that. For a lot of them she was still an outsider, a _privileged,_ and they would not follow her.

Miller they might, but he was too much of a soldier. He respected order and hierarchy more than any of them but he knew his place was not at its head. Others would sense that and try to seize that opportunity for themselves.

Octavia could hold it. With Lincoln at her side and the backing of a grounder Lieutenant she would be a fearsome opponent none would take on head to head. But there were those that distrusted her and her grounder mate. And Clarke doubted she would remain long without the ties of her brother holding her to them.

Bellamy had kept their loyalty by being the right type of ruthless to keep them alive but also by truly caring for their welfare. There was no one else she trusted to be that balance and still command them without question.

The thought brought her up short.

It was something she had always known but never had to think about, now she had to. There was no one else. Without him this would all fall apart.  She scanned the people. Some pretended she wasn’t there, others sneered and made rude gestures, others cowered. Without Bellamy Blake they were all as good as dead.

And there was nothing she could do about it.

* * *

 That night, after Lincoln had bundled off Octavia, after Monty had pushed the last of the patients out and, a few hours later, gone to bed himself, she crept over to Bellamy’s cot.

“Hey,” she spoke whisper soft. She eased into the crate the group had been using as a bedside-chair and just stared at him hopping he’d answer. He didn’t.

“I, ah-- Shit,” throat tight, she sat forward bracing her arms on her knees. “The camp's going to hell, there is nothing I can do about it without making it ten times worse and we’re about one hotheaded comment away from complete anarchy. I don’t know how you deal with it day after day.”

“And I just,” she cleared her throat, swallowing thickly. “I don’t know why you haven’t woken up. You _should_ have woken up. Your color is back, your heart rate steady and, considering what you went through, strong. We’ve corrected what little signs of infection that have sprouted up. You should not still be out of it.”

“If you--” she touched his hand for the first time since they brought him in without clinicalness guiding the movement. “If you don’t _soon_ , I’m afraid that you won't ever.”

“Bellamy, if you can hear me, please,” a tear spilled down her cheek, “just wake up.”

She bowed her head over his hand and let the tears silently soak into the blanket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm planing on having the final chapter posted early next week. It can't make up its mind if it's going to be happy or sad.  
> Thanks for reading. Feel free to tell me what you liked (or disliked) about my story thus far, I enjoy reading all comments.


	3. Dissemble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How a thing appears does not necessarily mean that is what it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is. Happy Halloween.

Bellamy woke feeling warm for the first time in recent memory.

His rest body on the other hand was one large ache, with notes of searing agony if he so much as though of moving. Each beat of his heart was painfully strong. He pried open his eyes. They hurt too, the dim lights of the drop ship almost blinding.

How long had he been out?

He laid there for a long time just blinking up at the ceiling trying to find a rhythm where breathing didn’t hurt so terribly. He didn’t find one, so just settled in on getting use to the ache of it.

The last solid thing he remembered was injuring the boar enough so that it ran away.  His left leg pulsed with the memory of watching the tusk puncture through flesh. He vaguely wondered if he’d ever be able to walk again.

Then there were little things that started to filter in, more sensations than actual memories. Miller and Harper finding him and dragging him back to camp. Clarke’s doctor voice, he must have been pretty bad to warrant Clarke’s doctor voice. Other voices whispering and mingling as they spoke around him.

Overlaying all of it, the pain. It kept sending him under to where the cold waited.

He remembered the feeling of water in his hair and Octavia’s soft words crooning to him. Lincoln’s promise, spoken quietly, directly in his ear, _“No worries, brother, I will take care of her.”_

He almost went to sleep then. His sister didn’t need him, she could take care of herself and  for the times she couldn’t Lincoln would be there for her. And breathing hurt so much. At least it was peaceful in the cold, the pain not so deep that it could reach there.

Then he remembered that it wasn’t just his sister that needed him. The camp, his people … Clarke.

That drove him to began the painful process of clawing himself back to life.

He tested his hands. His left one closed with just the baseline pain. The right one refused to move, felt like it had an immovable weight pressing on it. Had he broken it and not remembered? He turned his head slowly.

Clarke was sleeping on his it.

Or well, she was sleeping on her hands which were folded over his. She was so warm he wanted to curl around her and he would have if the thought of what that would entail, movement wise, hadn’t caused black to encroach on his vision.

So instead he just stared at her. Blond hair tangled around her face. She looked pale and tired, face pinched as if she had lost weight. Dark bags gave a bruised look about her.

“She hasn’t been sleeping much.” Monty stepped into sight on his left as they both looked at her. “Or eating at all.”

“How long?” They both spoke softly to not disturb Clarke, though from what he was hearing it would take an atomic blast to wake her.

“Since they brought you in four days ago.” Gentle hands pried Bellamy’s face away from hers as he set about examining him. Peeling open his eyes he checked dilation by shading it and exposing it to the ambient light. “How you feeling?”

“Peachy.” Monty gave him a look as he moved on to his second eye. Bellamy sighed. “Everything hurts.”

“That’s good. Pain means you’re alive.”

“Then I’m very much alive.” He swallowed thickly. “My leg?”

“It was pretty messed up but Clarke did everything in her power to make sure you’d be able to function. I’m not saying you’re going to be up and running through the forest anytime soon, but walking we should get to in a week or two.”

He let out a slight breath and smiled. “Well that’s good to know.”

“How does some food sound?”

Painful. “I should eat, shouldn’t I?” Monty nodded. “Okay then, food sounds good. How’s O?”

“She’s… okay. That first day we drugged her to keep her out of the medical ward. The next morning I thought she was going to go after Clarke but Lincoln calmed her down. He’s also been making sure she goes to their tent at night to sleep.” That was a good thing. Octavia was just like him, with inaction they got too much in their own heads. So Lincoln had given her something to take action on, even if it was probably fighting him. “I’ll tell them you’re awake when I get you something to eat.”

“And ask Lincoln if he could come move Clarke to her bed. Sleeping like this can’t be comfortable.” With a smile Monty nodded and scampered out of the drop ship.

He turned back to look at Clarke. Typical. He was unconscious for a few days and she stopped taking care of herself. Without him she’d work herself to death in a week. With a grunt at the pain he brought his unentangled hand over and stroked her hair. He couldn’t believe that for a second he considered giving this up.

At the touch of his hand she left out a sigh. He froze as she blinked open her eyes, groggily meeting his and smiling. “Bellamy…”

“Hi,” he said just as quietly.

She closed her eyes and snuggled against his hand. “I should wake up.”

“No. Go back to sleep.”

“Okay,” and with another content sigh she did.

He smiled easing back himself. He continued rubbing the soft strands through his fingers. It still felt like needles to breathe and his left leg throbbed like a war drum, but he was content.

* * *

Sometime later, probably minutes, he was blinking open his eyes to Monty returning, Octavia and Lincoln in tow.

“O, you didn’t need to get up.” He smiled at his sister.

“Yes I did, big brother.” She smiled marching over to his bed but caught herself up short when she saw Clarke sleeping on him. Rage burned in her eyes.

“O,” he spoke softly, bringing her gaze back to him. “Not her fault.”

“She kept you from me.” She snarled. “She kept you from me when you needed me.”

Lincoln stepped up behind her and laid a calming hand on her nap. She eased against him turning her glare away from the sleeping girl. He said something softly to her then kissed her cheek before stepping around. “I’ll get Clarke.”

“Thank you,” Bellamy said as the grounder knelt down to gather her into his arms. She came to with a start a she was lifted.

“Lincoln, what are you doing?” She frowned blinking. “Did I fall asleep?”

“It’s okay, Clarke, he’s just taking you to your bed.” Bellamy groaned as he had Octavia help him sit up.

“Bellamy? You’re awake! No, what are you doing? Lay back down.” She ordered as she rolled out of Lincoln’s arms.

“How’s he going to eat?” Octavia glared at her still easing her brother up.

Clarke stood braced on his other side. “He’s been laying flat on his back for three days. If he sits up the blood will rush from his head and he’ll faint.”

“Being conscious would be nice.” He said through gritted teeth. God it hurt.

Clarke smiled faintly at the sarcastic bite in his voice. “Monty get some of those blankets and we’ll prop him up a little so he can eat.” She met Octavia’s eyes. “You and I will have it out, but now is not the time.”

“You always get to decide, don’t you princess.” She spat dark eyes glinting. The tension in the room spiked.

“O,--” He began but quieted when Clarke shot a glare at him. She turned it on Lincoln when he made to set between them again. He nodded and took a step back, now that the immediate danger had passed he would not intervene between the two.

Finally she turned back to Octavia. “I did what I had to do.”

“You had me dragged out while my brother needed me. Then you had me drugged so I couldn’t come back. He could have died and I would have never been able to say goodbye! I didn’t know you were that coldly selfish.” Clarke tensed like she had been hit.

“I was elbows deep in blood and I couldn’t deal with you right then. You were about ten seconds from falling apart. And when you did, I would have followed and we would have lost Bellamy on that operating table. So yes, I had you dragged out because I knew you would have never left on your own. And yes, I had you drugged because I knew you would be right back in here demanding to see your brother and I needed to focus on getting him stable.”

“So the great Clarke Griffin gets to make all the decisions.”

“The decision I made I stand by.”

“And what if he had died? What then.”

“I knew neither one of us could live if our actions killed him so I took you out of the equation. If he had died you would have been well within your rights to hate me for the rest of your life. And I would get the _selfish_ glee in knowing that I didn’t cause you to blame yourself over it.”

“Clarke--” Bellamy tried again as Monty fit folded blankets under his shoulders.

“Don’t.” She said in a dangerous tone sparing him only a half sideways glance. She picked up the bowl Monty had put down to gather the blankets and held it out over him to Octavia. “He’s going to claim he can do it himself; he can’t. He’s going to claim he can get up; he can’t. Feed him and get as much water as you can down him. Be as angry with me for as long as you like, at this point I don’t care. Just … take care of him now.”

She jerked the bowl from her hands. “You don’t have to tell me that. He’s _my_ brother.”

She turned to Bellamy. “You’re going to eat and let Monty look over your wounds. Then you’re going to sleep. And if you strain so much as one stitch, Monty’s going to finish what that pig started and put you out of my misery.”

She turned and walked away.

“Where are you going?” Bellamy asked around a spoonful of Bubbling Pot Stew. Everything they had goes into a boiling pot of water and is cooked until it turns into uniform mash. 

“To sleep. I’ve wasted enough time on your idiotic ass.”

“But-” Octavia shoved another glob in his mouth. He glared at her but Clarke had already gone by the time he swallowed.

“O,” he began.

She shoved another bite in. “Shut up, Bellamy.”

He swallowed. “You can’t be m-”

She silenced him with more food. “Yes I can.”

“Octa-” Another full spoon. He glared at his sister for not allowing him to speak before rolling his eyes. He looked beyond her shoulder to Lincoln. _Go after her?_ He save a glance to his mate’s back then nodded and slipped silently from the drop ship after Clarke.

Not a minute later Octavia’s head went up as she searched the shadows. “Where’s Lincoln?”

Bellamy meekly shrugged and accepted another, less forceful spoon of food.

* * *

When she left the drop ship her brother was sleeping. He had started nodding off soon after finishing the food. Monty assured her that that was normal.

“Sleep’s the best medicine we have available.” He said with a cheeky grin, and told her that the stitches were holding and the wounds looked good.

Octavia had pulled up his blankets kissing his forehead. She could have lost him permanently this time. She flashed on Clarke’s blank face in the woods when she told her. Anger at the woman burned the thin thread of fear that still choked her.

Walking to her tent she decided to drop off the dirty dishes in the morning, suddenly feeling exhausted, and was changing directions in the maze of tents when she saw Lincoln stepping out of one.

Clarke’s.

They stood there staring at eachother.

He went to her tent. After what she did to Bellamy how _dare_ he go to comfort her.

She marched through him, glare focused passed him. She stormed into their tent. He followed.

“Octavia.”

“Save it, Lincoln,” she said angrily stripping out of her shirt. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“She did what she had to do.” He spoke as she shoved the clothes into her pack. “ You have few pressure points, love, but when they are hit you shatter. Clarke is much the same, though she may have even fewer. She couldn't concentrate with you being there.”

“He’s my brother!” She turned on him. How dare he take her side! “For my whole life he has been the one thing that’s constant and I almost lost him. She told me he was _dying!_ ”

He stood quiet in her rage. “And think what that knowledge did to her.”

“No,” she backed away from him, “we are not playing this game.”

“She is your friend.”

“That was before she drugged me and gave my brother up for dead!” She raged.

“Don’t.  Be angry with her but don’t withhold your friendship. It will hurt her, and I know that’s what you want, but it will also hurt you.”

“You think me so weak.”

“If great friendship is such a weakness it is one I would gladly bear. She’s given you everything you’ve needed.”

“I _need_ to be with my brother.”

“No, you _wanted_ to be to be with your brother. You _needed_ your brother’s healer to have complete focus on him. For her that meant getting you out of the way so she could remain impersonal. Because if she thought about it for one second being Bellamy on that table she wouldn’t have been able to help him.” She retreated, trying to distance herself from his words.   

He followed. “When he woke up and she knew he was okay the first thing she did was hand over his care to you, because she knew _that’s_ what you needed. Yet what about her?”

“I don’t care!” She yelled, uncaring that it was the middle of the night. Uncaring that tears streamed down her cheeks.

He eased her into his arms. “I don’t believe that.”

“I don’t want you going near her.” She sobbed into his shoulder holding onto her anger desperately. It was better than the fear. And the fear that she would lose her brother would last a long time.

“‘Your enemy be my enemy. Your friend, mine.’ I will not hurt her just because you tell me to.” He kissed her forehead being her rock. Then he led her to bed and just held her while she fell apart. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the bit of rushed ending, this turned into more of an Octavia and Clarke centered story then I originally planned. I wanted to get this up and the story stopped flowing in consecutive bits so I scrapped together what I felt made a whole and posted it. Thanks for all your kudos. Special thanks Christelle34(Almostdreaming) and Wright for their comments. No magical solution but hard work and the power of love.


	4. Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Truths be told and promises made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who wanted more, with special thanks to Bellarke_Stories and OhLookMoreFanFiction. Thanks for the comments guys, made me want to write this.   
> Couldn't have done this without the help of my sister who spent what little free time she's had over the last three days reading aloud this story and helping me come to what I feel is a much better ending.   
> With all my love.

“Why have you been avoiding me?” 

Clarke startled guiltily, turning to see Bellamy sitting up on his cot.

“You should be laying down.” She said with a frown, wiping her hands off on a cloth. “And I have not been avoiding you. I’ve been no more than a dozen feet from you for the last week.”

“Yet we’ve spoken less than that first week on the ground when we hated each other, back when you  _ were _ avoiding me.” He help up a hand when Clarke opened her mouth to respond. “Before you lie or say anything about how inflated my ego is, just spit out the truth.”

The truth. She turned away from him bracing herself over her work table. What was the truth? 

That they had to keep monitoring his wounds so he had to stay in the drop ship because he was too weak to keep moving back and forth from his tent. That she had to force herself to leave the drop ship at night so she didn’t hover over him and hating herself for it because he couldn’t do the same. That if she had done one little thing wrong he could remain crippled. That it would take months of physical therapy for him to gain his mobility back and even if everything went fine he would have pain for the rest of his life. 

All of these were truths and all of them kept her up worrying at night. But the one that was tearing her apart was. 

“I told Octavia you were dying.” She spoke softly her back still turned to Bellamy. 

Understanding at his sister's behavior dawned. It was fear that had caused her to lash out at Clarke. He was much the same way; turn that fear into anger and use that anger to win. It didn’t excuse what she was doing but now at least he understood. “I was.”

“No,” She spun gesturing wildly, “ you don’t understand.  _ I _ told Octavia  _ you _ were  _ dieing! _ That there was nothing I could do and I had given up hope. I all but told her to do the same!”

He knew how bad he had been. When the pain was so overwhelming and the cold so inviting he had almost led go himself. He didn’t blame Clarke for doing the same. She understood the risks, had calculated his chances and came to the conclusion that he wasn’t going to make it. She gave O the news so she would have time to process it. She was being kind even if now she didn’t see it that way. 

“Octavia, she needs you, Bellamy, and I took that away from her. And I … can’t.”

He frowned. “Can’t what?”

“Need you.” She burst out, deflating before his eyes, as if holding in the words had kept her rigid. “I can’t need you because you will die and I will not be able to go on.”

“Of course you will.”

“No.” She rubbed her face in sudden exhaustion. “I thought I could. Thought that I could remain strong for our people, to lead them without you being there, but I now know what a lie that was. I’m not strong enough to make them follow me.”

He reached out and snagged her hand, uncaring that it sent a spike of pain through his body. When she needed him he would be there for her. “You’re stronger than you know.”

She stared at their joint hands. “I’m not strong enough to do this without you.” She looked so fragile, as if his brush with death had weakened her in some way. 

“How about I make you a promise.” He said slowly, tugging her closer. “I won't let myself die until you are strong enough to do this on your own--”

She followed the pull of his hand. “You can’t promise that, Bellamy.” 

He spoke over her, calmed by the note of exasperation in her voice. “And even when you are, I won't go seeking death.“

She closed her eyes. “Bellamy...” She didn’t know if she wanted to laugh or cry at his arrogance. 

“I didn’t wake up for Octavia.” She felt tears prickle as he spoke softly. “I love her and I feel pain for the grief she would have gone through but I knew she would have been alright. Lincoln promised me he’d be there for her.

“You, on the other hand, try to take on the fate of too many things. When it started crumbling down you would have crushed yourself trying to catch it all.” He silenced the protest she was about to make. “We both know you would have stood your ground as the camp did its worst. Your need to do everything in your power for what you believe to be the greater good even if it ends up costing you yourself.”

She laid her forehead on his shoulder. “I’m not a saint.”

His hand came up cradling her head. “No, you’re a queen, ready and willing to do anything for her people. Even going so far to let them kill you for trying to stop them from killing themselves.” He brushed his fingers through her hair, running his cheek against it. “You have to make me the same promise here, Clarke. You can’t die until I’m strong enough to run this camp by myself. 

“You’re strong enough right now.” She protested.

“I’m the guy who thought that ‘whatever the hell we want’ was a good governing model. You can’t leave me unsupervised.” 

“So what’s the plan then? We both go down in the flames of glory, fighting til the bitter end?”

“No, you and I will both be there standing, grieving in the aftermath. This isn’t a romance or a comedy, for us this is just life. All around worse and yet better than any story.  And I want to spend it with you.”

She buried her face deeper in his neck, cheeks heating, and snuffled on a laugh. “Not a romance, huh?”

“Not my fault you’re easily wooed, princess.” He kissed her ear, pulling back to lay his forehead against hers, searching her eyes. “Promise me?”

She stared back, warmth flooding her, bringing a joyful smile to her lips. “I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it for real this time :) Thanks to all those that have read, kudo-d, bookmarked and commented. I am so grateful for any and all feedback.


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